The X-Files: The Haunting of Derry
by MSDR89
Summary: Mulder and Scully, Doggett and Reyes, and their respective children, are taking a vacation together. They happen to pass through Derry, Maine and are caught up in one of It's cycles. Be warned, this story may contain extremely graphic and frightening scenes, please take caution, likely NOT for the faint of heart. Will they defeat It, or will It feed on their children?
1. Warning!

I just wanted to post a warning here, before you get into this story, and I apologize to whomever I missed already. This is very very much a work-in-progress. I may change things up part way through as I write, move chapters around to change the final effect, even adjust major plot points. I meant to no begin writing this until I finished my X-Files Fanfic 'Whatever Happened to Baby William' but this kept tugging at me until I had to start it, and I always post before the polished final product because I like getting input and critiques. So, be forewarned, anyone who reads my stuff has probably realized I am a very slow writer, so this will probably be awhile in coming, and may change quite a bit as I work through it. Thank you so much to everyone who reads anyway, and everyone who critiques/reviews, I greatly appreciate it. I also feel it necessary to warn again for graphic violence descriptions. The fact this is an X-Files/It Crossover should denote that, but still felt I should make people doubly aware.


	2. Prologue

_SA F. W. Mulder_

_The X-Files Department_

_July 14__th__, 2011_

_I have been looking through the packet of papers that Mike slipped to me shortly before he was arrested. The ones that come from the vault in the library. They were much more faded when he first gave them to me, I remember I could barely read them. They've grown sharper now, clearer. And they speak of an evil in Derry, an evil that has come and gone many times before. An evil, that feeds on children. And his description of Derry as a haunt keeps coming back to me. All the different meanings of the word._

_Haunted. Often visited by ghosts, or spirits._

_A Haunt. A place often visited. A hangout. A den._

_To Haunt. To appear or recur often._

_A Haunt. A feeding place for animals._

_A feeding place for animals…_


	3. Chapter One

_Into the Woods (2011)_

1

Samuel Creede walked slowly through the tangled underbrush, the humid heat of summer still choking the air despite the fact that it was already early September. Perspiration dripped heavily down the seven year old's face as he crashed through the thick plant growth, silent to his little boy ears. Giant mosquitos droned like jumbo jets around his face. Locked in his hands was a plastic pistol. A few feet ahead of him his older brother Aaron was barely visible through the plants. Normally Aaron played in the Barrens with his friends and didn't like his kid brother tagging along. Today, they had all been busy, so Sam was enjoying some rare time with his brother.

Aaron backed up against a tree and motioned to his brother, whispering "Psst! Stay there Sammy! I hear something moving up ahead, I'm gonna go check it out!" With that the boy disappeared into the tangle of vegetation.

Sam nodded, licking his lips nervously and practically quivering with anticipation. He and Aaron were playing 'Alien Invasion'. A spacecraft had crash-landed in the Barrens, and the alien predators were running free now. Aaron and Sam were the only ones left of their Marine Squadron.

Ahead of him, hidden in the brush, the fading click of Aaron's toy pistol sounded several times. "Come on Sammy, hurry! It's all clear, for now!"

Sam ran and almost slammed flat into his brother. Aaron caught him by his shoulders and steadied him.

"Did you see one of them?" Sam stage-whispered to his brother, and Aaron nodded silently, looking awed.

"Sure did, Little Brother." He answered, and shivered at the memory. Sam's eyes widened.

"What do they look like?" he whispered, leaning close to his brother.

Aaron leaned down, glancing back and forth nervously. "They're huge, and slimy! They have 10 tentacles, and every tentacle has a mouth on it, full of long razor sharp needle-teeth! Plus it has a bigger mouth on its body, full of even more, even bigger razor sharp needle-teeth!" Suddenly Aaron froze, putting a finger to his lips. "I heard something, over there. Wait a few seconds than follow a few feet behind me." Sam nodded and did as he was told.

The two boys slunk farther and farther into the wooded wilderness of the Barrens, the plants cutting off more and more of the sunlight. The Barrens was a track of mostly undeveloped land that stretched between Kansas Street and the old Cape. Most of it was covered in jungle-like plant growth, but there was also the old stone quarry and the Derry Waste Removal and Recycling Facilities. The entire area was sprinkled with large metal and cement sewage and drainage pipes, and the old Cape led out to the Kenduskeag Stream, and from there the Penobscot River, from there. The thick growth absorbed the plastic clicks of the toy guns and the cries and whoops of the boys as the hot late summer day faded down towards twilight.

Sam and Aaron stood panting in a gritty rivulet of water, bent over, hands resting on their knees. They looked up and grinned at one another.

"We got almost all of them now, right Aar?" Sam asked, and his brother nodded and cocked his gun.

"All but one of them, the Leader. The biggest, ugliest, meanest, most dangerous one of them all." The two boys stood up, and Aaron looked toward a large metal cylinder set in concrete a few yards away. "We got it cornered in there. It's hiding. Now all we have to do is sneak up on it and take it out. It's gonna be harder than the rest of them, but we can handle it." The bigger boy winked and smiled at the smaller one. "We're the Creede Brothers, we're Legendary. And as soon as we take out this last one we're gonna go home and they're gonna give us medals, and throw a parade for us, and everyone in the world is gonna know our names. We'll be the most loved people who ever lived. You got that Sammy?"

Sam nodded his head quickly, staring at his brother with the admiration only small boys could give the older brothers they worshipped. "Got it Aaron. Let's take her out!"

Aaron nodded. "Alright, I'm gonna scout ahead, you hide here and wait for my signal. When I give it, you haul over there and spray the whole area with shots, got it? There's no room for mistakes, and it's gonna take both of us, okay?"

Sam grinned and gave his brother the thumbs up before hunkering down behind some brush. Aaron headed off towards the metal tunnel, cautiously. Sam watched him and felt simple love for his brother, love for the entire day, well up inside of him. He watched Aaron approach the entrance to the tunnel slowly, gun ready, and prepared to follow. Aaron would be giving him the signal any second now.

Aaron paused, turning his head to the side, listening for something. His hands dropped slowly from the ready position, holding the toy gun to his side instead of ready to be fired. He looked puzzled, and then slowly an expression of fear stole across his face. The ten year old stumbled back a few steps, still staring in shocked horror at the entrance to the tunnel. The plastic gun fell from limp fingers.

Sam watched his brother and knew there was something wrong as soon as the gun lowered. Aaron hardly ever broke character when they played, something that often angered their Mother when she wanted him to be serious and stop or pause the game. Sam stood up slowly, looking, but too frightened by his brother's looks to call out to him. As Aaron turned towards him, it seemed like he was moving in slow motion.

The older boy had turned the pale color of curdled milk. He spared a glance back at the tunnel for a split second before finally finding his voice and his legs. "Sammy RUN!" he screamed, beginning to race towards him.

Sam obeyed immediately and promptly fell on his face, his legs turned to rubber, and before he got to his feet Aaron screamed again. There were no words this time, or if there were they were drowned in the desperate hysterical pitch of the scream. It wasn't even a scream anymore, but a high-pitched shriek. It didn't sound like a pre-teen boy anymore, but like a little girl.

Sam saw why when he got to his feet. His mouth dropped open, and he didn't feel the hot piss that ran down his legs and soaked into the crotch and legs of his jeans, nor did he feel his bladder release. He didn't even feel his legs beginning to run, he was scarcely aware that he was moving, and he didn't realizethat what seemed to be the whine of the wind in his ears was actually his own screams.

It had been the alien. The many tentacled, many mouthed alien from their game. A real one. It must have come shooting out of the tunnel, just where Aaron had said it was hiding. It had Aaron wrapped in its many tentacles, and each mouth had appeared to be feasting.

Sam fell only once more, as he reached the top of the steep grade that descended into the Barrens from Kansas Street. He glanced behind him when he did. The foliage was thinner here, and he could see, about 20 yards behind him, his brother. The boy's clothing was ripped and he was bleeding quite badly, but he was still very much alive, moving. The alien was nowhere in sight. Instead, a clown stood beside his brother.

Sam stared at this scene below him panting and quivering. He heard his brother make a low moaning sound. The clown had bright red hair and a bright red bulb nose. The clown's smile was a red painted slash over its mouth, making the smile impossibly wide and fakely cheerful. Black eyebrows were painted high on its forehead in amusing gestures, and the top of its head was bald. Beneath the hair and paint, a thick layer of white grease paint covered the clown's features. The suit was strange, not bright and colorful like most clown suits, but an odd shade of opaque silver with orange pompoms running down the front. On his feet were floppy oversized black clown shoes.

The clown held Aaron by his hair in one hand, and in his other hand was a bunch of balloons. He caught Sam's eye and smiled disarmingly. Aaron made another sound, this one a long groaning croak.

"Hiya there Sammy!" the clown called, and his voice was bright and friendly. Sam pulled himself to his feet slowly, his stomach queasy and on the verge of puking, but he didn't answer.

The clown held the hand with the balloons out towards him. There were so many balloons, every color and size. Some were shaped like poodles, some like giraffes, others like swords. Some were even fashioned into pirate hats. "Do ya want a balloon? How about it, Buddy? I have every kind there is, why don't you come down here and get one?"

Sam shook his head no, tears drying on his face but fresh ones still pouring down. His eyes darted to the clown and balloons occasionally but were mostly trained on his brother.

The clown pulled an exaggerated sad face. "Aw, no? Don't worry about him; he's just fine. Just fell down and banged himself up a little is all."

Sam stared at the clown fearfully. He could feel himself already beginning to doubt the alien, everything he had seen. "A-Aaron?" he called out to his brother uncertainly.

The clown flashed Sam another brilliant smile. "I tell you what, Little Buddy; how about we all go to the fair, hm? Me and your brother are going, why don't you come along? There're rides, and games, and treats… Can't you smell it Sammy? Can't you _hear_ it?"

And somehow, amazingly, he could. The sound of laughter and children carrying on and playing, of carnival midway music, of the games and the rides. And he could smell the carnival foods cooking, the funnel cakes and fried oreos, the hot dogs and cotton candy and candied apples. He could smell the acrid scent of the animals from the petting zoo, all drifting up from the Barrens. His eyes widened in surprise.

"What do you say, Sammy? How about it, Pal?" the clown asked in a strangely intense manner. He beckoned Sam forward, and Sam took a slow hesitant step forwards than stopped. "There can't be a Carnival down there, there's no room." He called nervously. "There's just the Barrens, and they go right up against the Kenduskeag."

The clown had a deep penetrating intense stare fixed on him. "It's a _floating_ carnival, Sammy. It floats on a barge on the river. It _alllll_ floatsss."

Sam hesitated once more, than backed up several steps, shaking his head. "We have to go home, it's getting late."

The clown gave Sam a terrible smile, and wrenched Aaron up higher, so that the tips of his sneakers barely drug on the ground. The boy made a slight, weak sound. Then he began to open his mouth. Wide, than wider, and wider. His teeth were like jagged straight razors set into his gums, and his eyes suddenly seemed to glow with a strange animal-like yellow light. He looked straight at Sam, the light of the day growing long but the scene before him still perfectly visible, and he smiled. Sam was frozen with terror.

Like a snake striking its prey, the clown suddenly lunged at Aaron and sank its long razor-teeth into his throat. His body immediately began to jerk and jitter, but that was all Sam saw. His terrified paralysis finally broken, he turned and ran shrieking up out of the Barrens, onto Kansas Street. He continued the same long loud breathless shriek as he raced home like the hounds of Hell were on his tail, nearly getting run over numerous times in the process. He never slowed, never stopped screaming, and did not spare one more glance behind him.

2

Dorothy Creede sat across from her husband at the kitchen table, drinking black coffee. Her eyes were dry, but she was pale, and her skin had a stretched waxy look. Her lips were pulled thin with worry, and when she raised the cup of coffee to take a drink it shook violently in her unsteady grip. She had no idea what time it was, only that it was pitch black outside still.

Her husband fidgeted in his seat at the table across from her, bouncing his leg, absently stirring his coffee repeatedly, worrying at the edges of his paper napkin and fraying them away slowly but surely. Roy Creede was not an overly large man, but he was not tiny either. But just than he seemed very small indeed, hunkered down in his seat. Occasionally he would stand up and begin to pace around the kitchen.

Both of the elder Creedes had been home when Sam had returned. Dorothy had been working on some sewing, and Roy had been finishing up some yard work when Sam had bolted up the driveway. He hadn't been shrieking anymore than, he'd run out of too much air by then, but he didn't need the sound effect.

The little boy had been dirty. His hair had been standing on end, almost cartoonish, like on Bugs Bunny or Tom & Jerry. His eyes had been huge, like tea saucers set into his head, and bulging out. You could smell the fear on him, like strong body odor with a sharp metallic tang. It came off him in ways. His dark blue jeans were clearly soaked with piss in the crotch and completely down both legs. You could smell that on him too, under the fear smell.

Roy had seen him tearing up the driveway and had jumped up, concerned, and ran after him. When he caught him he turned him around the face him.

"What's the matter boy?" he'd asked, afraid himself at the boy's condition. "Sam, what happened? Where's your brother?"

Sam didn't answer. Instead his body stiffened, his eyes rolled completely back into his head, and he fell away into a dead faint.

It had been several hours before Sam had been able to tell his story, and no one knew what to make of it. They had rushed him to the hospital to be examined, and the doctors could find no evidence of physical or sexual abuse of any kind on him, only the clear obvious psychological damage seemed to be present. After they sedated the boy they were able to find out where he and his brother had been playing, and the Derry Police had gone out to search and sweep through the Barrens. No one paid any attention to Sam's talk of aliens and clowns and carnivals floating on the river. He had suffered a severe shock, after all, and clearly his mind was playing terrible tricks on him.

After searching for hours, well into the night and early morning hours, there was no sign of Aaron. They had found blood, and they had found a few scraps of clothing. His cell phone had been found, smashed and water logged and bloody. But no Aaron, and no body. They had begun making plans to dredge the Kenduskeag Stream

Dorothy and Ray Creede sat at the kitchen table and drank bitter black coffee, still in shock, praying and hoping that their son would be found alive.

3

The sedatives wore off at about the time the first reaches of dawn light appeared over the horizon in Derry, and Sam Creede woke up shrieking hysterically from the first of what would be many, many bad dreams.

He dreamt of a terrible alien monster with sharp teeth like razors, dressed in a silver clown suit with orange pompoms. All around it were children, countless children. And just beside the clown-alien-monster was his brother, Aaron. There was a grievous wound in his throat that looked a sore and swollen purple in the terrible dark lighting (deadlights?) of the nightmare. There was a bloody mirthless grimacing smile on his face. His eyes were gone, just gaping bloody hollows left in his head.

"Hey there, Little Brother." Aaron had said, that terrible bloody grin of a mouth not moving, but it being Aaron's voice nonetheless, inside of Sam's head. " You left me Sammy, you left me with It to diiieeeee! And now I'm dead, Sammy, I'm dead! I'm dead, far far below Derry, I'm dead down here, and I float, I _flloooaaaatttttt_ down here, and we're going to come for you Sammy, we're _alllllllll _going to come for you, we'll follow the trail of fear you left for us, allll the way back home, and than we'll bring you down here with us, and when you're down here with us Sammy, when you're down here with us YOU'LL FLOAT TOO!" The voice of his brother intermingled with that of the clown, and with other children, so many children, until it was a raging chorus of voices.

At the last words Sam was released from the dream, and he sat bolt upright in his bed, a long endless shriek issuing from his mouth. It was well past down when his Mother was able to calm him, finally using more of the sedative the Doctors at the hospital had prescribed.

Seven year old Samuel Creede fell than into a deep, restless, mercifully dreamless sleep.

4

From the sewers, deep beneath the streets of Derry, seemingly endless crypts, many of them long forgotten and disused now, a low quiet chuckle echoed through the tunnels, some nearly as old as the country itself. It bubbled up out of drains in tubs and sinks, and out of toilets. And in their sleep, many children of Derry stirred and shivered, though none would remember the cold feeling of premonition they felt as they slumbered in the early morning hours. More than a few would only have a few months to live now, along with other children of Derry. A sudden high wind blew through Derry, and many old timers rose early, skin prickling with fear that they did not understand.

… It, was back.


	4. Chapter Two

Dana stood outside of the car, hand held above her eyes to shield them from the sun. The June day was dazzlingly bright, and was threatening to be even hotter than the 88 degrees the forecast had suggested. The sun shined off of Dana's auburn hair as though it were made of metal. Today Dana was wearing a form fitting t-shirt and jean shorts that came barely to the middle of her thighs, showing off her shapely legs. It was a far cry from the professional attire she normally wore as an FBI Agent. The outfit was not enough, however, to keep her husband's attention for very long. Fox Mulder was currently striding quickly through the park towards a small crowd of police officers surrounding a small section of canal cordoned off with yellow caution tape. Watching him, Dana sighed. They had gotten so close, within a few hours of the cabin they had rented in Northern Maine. She should have known better, should have expected that SOMETHING would side track them. It always did.

"Mom? Where's Dad going?" came a small voice from the back of the car. Dana and Fox's eleven year old son Will leaned over the seat, craning his neck to watch his Father, his bright blue eyes magnified by the glasses that slid uncontrollably down his nose. Eight year old Kody Doggett sat beside him, still absorbed in his handheld video game. Dana and Fox's fourteen year old daughter Emily had not commented on the situation yet, but that was because she was riding with Monica and John Doggett in their SUV, but Dana was sure her teenager would be adding her attitude into the mixture before too much longer. At this point Dana could barely blame her.

Sure enough, the back door of the Doggett's SUV swung open and Emily Melissa Mulder swung out. Trim and with a slightly athletic build, long straight brown hair with auburn highlights, green eyes and clear creamy skin, it was easy to see already that she was going to be a real beauty. The stylish brand name jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt she wore spoke quite a bit towards the popular clique she was a part of at her school. The furious expression on her face and the manner of her brisk stride spoke a great deal towards the brusque, dismissive, exasperated attitude her Mother had once shared with her. This was especially directed at her parents. Emily had every intention of living the privileged life of the upper class, and crazy parents who made a career out of chasing boogeymen ghosts and monsters was absolutely not a part of that equation. When she had been ten she'd gone to work with her parents for Take your Daughter to Work Day, and one of the agents from another department had stopped by and asked if this was 'Little Spooky'. Emily had never forgotten that early lesson about being judged by who you associated with, and she had no intentions whatsoever of letting _anyone_ ruin her chances for the life she wanted.

"Mom. _What_ is he _doing_?" Emily asked, tossing her long hair over her shoulder abruptly and putting her hands on her hips. She looked in the direction her Father had headed off in and made a revolted noise. "Is he _serious_? It's not bad enough I have to be drug halfway across the country to go _camping_ in the middle of nowhere, but now we're going to sit around while he tries to make a crazy case out of something mundane he just _happens_ to pass by." Emily's voice dripped with loathing. The teenager flopped down on the ground in the shade of the car, arms crossed.

"Emily Melissa, you better reconsider who you're talking about, and who you are talking to. You need to show your Father some respect. He works hard and gives you a lot. You could try appreciating it for once in your life." Dana watched Mulder approach one of the officers. "We _are_ FBI Agents, it's our responsibility to stop and see if we can be of assistance if we see a crime when we are off duty."

Emily looked up at her Mother in disbelief, upper lip curled in disgust. "Mom, he is _crazy_. Why are you even still with him?" Emily knew she was overstepping her boundaries with that question, but she was tired of wondering. Her parents were nothing alike, and her Mom was even capable of being relatively normal at times. "And if it's your responsibilities, than why aren't you, Uncle John, or Aunt Monica running over there? Just Dad."

Dana felt dull fury surge through her. "Has it ever occurred to you Emily that perhaps you _don't_ know everything? If you knew a quarter of what you _think_ you know you would never even think about suggesting that your Dad is crazy. As for why I am with him, you had better think long and hard about what questions you have any right to ask me, because that is _far_ from being one of them." Dana paused, attempting to cool down. Moments ago she'd been about as annoyed with Mulder as Emily was, but now suddenly found herself leaning more towards being on his side. "Go get back in the car Emily. You're Father will be back in a few minutes. But we're not done discussing this. We need to talk, and you need a serious attitude adjustment."

Emily stomped back to the SUV without a word, arms crossed, and slammed the door good and hard when she got in.


	5. Chapter Three

_Little Boy Lost (2036)_

1

_ "You have to find him!"_ Kathy Losey screamed for the fifth time. The distraught woman's face was streaked with tears as she paced around the 3rd floor interrogation room in the newly renovated Derry Police Department. Deputies Ryan Hollis and John Henry Wexler sat across the table from where her chair was pulled back, watching her moves reproachfully.

"Ma'am, we're trying, over two thirds of the police force are out sweeping Derry now, we have volunteers from other counties working too. We really need you to be cooperative with us now-" Deputy Hollis tried again, but flinched back into silence when the woman exploded again.

"Cooperative? _Cooperative?_ I've told you the story ten God damn times now! How much more fucking cooperative can I possibly be?" Kathy Losey partially screamed, partially sobbed, and partially wheezed. "I'm done talking, I want to get out there and find my son!" She sat back down in the chair and put her head in her hands. "I just want to find my baby."

Deputy Wexler reached across the table and took one of her hands, squeezed it gently. "We understand, Mrs. Losey. That's all we're trying to do here, is get all the facts, and get them straight, so we can figure out what happened to your little boy and bring him home safely. Now please, just one more time Mrs. Losey, tell us what happened."

Kathy sighed shakily once, and was silent for nearly a full minute, just staring at the table. Than quietly, almost monotone now, she began to tell the story again.

2

Six year old Douglas Shane Losey was being tortured. Plain and simple, he was suffering through cruel and unusual torment. He didn't know how much more he could take of it. And they were only on the first floor of the Derry Mall.

It was a beautiful Sunday in early March, nice enough to play outside in only a light jacket, a rarity this time of year in Maine, and here he was stuck _shopping_. The word itself left a bad feeling in Doug's mind, and when he mouthed it there was even a bad taste in his mouth it seemed, like rotten eggs and curdled milk mixed with lemon. The little boy made a sour face as he drug his feet along behind his Mother.

It wasn't even like it was _good_ shopping, like going to the video game store, or the toy store, or the candy store, or even to get ice cream. They were in a _Department_ Store, where his Mother could look at things like curtains and pillows, than pots and pans, than clothes for herself, and Doug, and his Father. And then only God knew what because Department Stores had _everything_.

"Come _on_ Mo-om!" he whined, shuffling his feet, as his Mother picked out several work shirts for his Father. "You've been looking at those for CENTURIES!"

Kathy Losey smiled good naturedly to herself over her son's complaint. "Oh, come on Dougie, it's only been about ten minutes. Your Daddy needs new shirts for work, I'll be done soon. And I told you, when I'm all done we'll go to the park."

Doug glowered at her. "My name is NOT 'Dougie' it's DOUG! 'Dougie' is for babies!" His mother ignored this sullen outburst and Doug took to kicking at the ground. "And if you keep going this slow it'll be too late to go to the park when we leave." He grumbled petulantly.

Kathy turned from the clothing rack and bent down to her son, her face serious. "Now you listen to me, Mister." Doug immediately looked a bit nervous. "_I_ can call you Dougie because you will _always_ be _my_ baby." Then she kissed his cheek before he could react to pull away, chuckling at her little trickery.

Doug rubbed at his face furiously where she had kissed him. "Moooommmm! Don't do that in PUBLIC!"

Kathy chuckled at her son's indignation, though a part of her was terribly sad he was pulling away already. He'd only turned 6 a few months before, he was only in kindergarten. But she pushed the sadness away. He was growing up was all, into a fine young man, and she should be happy with and proud of that. "Come on Doug; let's go look at a few pairs of pants for you and we'll get out of here."

Doug followed along closely, only a foot or two behind her.

3

Bill Losey sat across the table from Derry Sheriff Tom Moravian and Deputy Kristen Flannery. A tall lanky man with a stern face, he was dry-eyed and quiet, but deep fury burned behind his gray eyes. Greasy brown hair fell limply into his eyes. His clothes were dirty and greasy, and he was tired. He'd worked most of a shift, he was a mechanic, and had been being questioned ever since in the fifth floor interrogation room.

"Come on Bill, be honest with me. Working your ass off, slaving away day in and day out, and having to support some kid that's not even yours. That'd be enough to piss any sane person off. Isn't that right Kris?"

The Deputy nodded her head at the prompt, but it made her stomach flip to do it. "I'd say so. I sure as Hell wouldn't want to be in that boat, having to provide for some other man's boy."

Bill Losey gave them both a very ugly look. "He isn't some other man's boy; he's my boy. I was the one at the hospital with Kathy when she had him. He got my middle name. I've been the one raising him since day one." Bill punctuated the word 'one' by slamming his hand on the table. "I legally adopted him when he was two years old. I don't give a God _Damn_ who's DNA he has, Doug is _my_ boy."

The Deputy and the Sheriff exchanged looks. They had gotten quite the different story from Doug's biological father, Jeffrey Horton. He had described the man before them as ornery and temperamental, quick to infuriate, apt to get physical. He had described him as a menace to the boy, hard as rusty nails on him, and liberal with his use of corporal punishment. And quite the drinker. From what the officers could see, that description seemed pretty spot on.

Bill looked between them, back and forth. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm stupid, a real dumb-fuck. Because I work with my hands, and didn't go to school. Well you can go _fuck_ yourselves. I didn't hurt that boy, I would never hurt that boy, and I didn't take or send him anywhere either. And if you don't like that story at face value you can try calling my job, I was there until I got the damn call that Doug was, mi-missing." Than Bill Losey's face crumpled a bit. "God, I would never do a thing to hurt that boy. I love him, he's my _son_." Than Bill Losey began to cry in earnest, hard racking sobs. "Gah-ah-ahd, where is my _son!?"_

4

Doug Losey's face was screwed up in misery. His Mother had made him try on SEVEN pairs of jeans already. And not just try on, but then she had to check the waist, check the length, make him squat, make him march, make him touch his toes

"Are we done yet?" he whined unhappily as his Mother took off the last pair he had tried on.

"Alright Dougie, alright." She said, smiling and ruffling his hair. "That's enough trying clothes on. I just have to get one more thing upstairs, okay?"

Doug rolled his eyes. He pulled his own old comfortable jeans back on, his sneakers, and the lightweight red jacket he was wearing that day. He followed his Mother towards the escalators, dragging his heels and trailing a few feet behind.

"Come on Doug, keep up." Kathy Losey called over her shoulder. "We'll grab something to eat at the food court after this and then we'll go to the park, okay? And if you're a good boy maybe me, you, and Daddy'll go out for some ice cream after dinner."

"Okay Mom." Doug answered softly. The escalator had presently forced all other thoughts out of his mind. Though he would never admit it, Douglas Losey was terrified, absolutely _petrified_, of escalators. He knew it was stupid and babyish, but he couldn't help envisioning the green glow underneath the moving steps as the gigantic eye of some horrific beast, gleaming with evil light. It waited there, just waiting and biding its time, until some poor kid forgot to tie his shoelaces, or his jeans were hanging down just a little too far. Than it would catch hold of that shoelace, or bottom bit of jeans, and it would pull him in slowly, bit by bit, and no matter how much he struggled and screamed it would just suck him down into the dark depths, crunching him up slowly along the way, taking him down into the darkness where there was nothing but that horrible green light, flashing, flashing, flashing… Doug stared, almost hypnotized, into the light beneath his feet. _The deadlights _he thought randomly, with no idea where the thought could have come from, and hardly even registering the thought within himself. _I'm looking at the deadlights._

"I just need to get some new paper to line the cabinets with and then we'll be on our way, okay Dougie?" Kathy called over her shoulder, walking briskly. It _was_ getting late, her son was right. Time had somehow gotten away from her, like it often did when she was shopping. "Dougie?" she repeated when she got no answer.

Kathy stopped and turned around, expecting to see her son, head down, a few feet behind her, perhaps still moping. But instead the space behind her was empty, there was no one. Kathy began walking back the way she came, retracing her steps. Panic began to bloom in her chest and grow, each passing second that her son didn't return to her sight.

"Dougie?" she called again, trying to force the fear out of her voice. "Doug?" She was hurrying now, running, almost sprinting. "Doug!?" Her voice, both the pitch and volume, had risen but in her choking fear-driven panic she didn't notice.

Kathy made it all the way back to the escalator, the last place she had actually had eyes on her son and heard him answer her back. Still, there was no sign of him now. Kathy spun in a circle, desperation finally taking her over. She could see almost the entire upper floor of the store from where she was. Darkness seemed to wash over her mind and she began to shriek her son's name, over and over again. "DOUGLAS!?"

5

Jeffrey Almoner Horton sat in the investigation room on the second floor of the Derry Police Department. Physically he was a tall, handsome, well-bred man who took good care of himself. He was intelligent and well-spoken, charitable even, when the mood struck him. But, inside, he was a very small and petty man. At the moment his eyes were wet as he sat across from Deputy Ashley Sherman and Deputy Leon Goode, maligning the mother and adoptive father of his biological son.

"I always knew it would come to this." He said again for at least the fifth time. "Bill Losey never wanted that boy, he only went through with the adoption to please Kathy. God knows she can be persuasive and beguiling. God knows I know that firsthand."

"So you believe Douglas' Father had something to do with his disappearance then?" Deputy Goode said, and Jeff shot him a furious look.

"_I_ am Doug's Father." He answered harshly. "That bitch stole him away from me, her and that bastard she married. First she used me to get herself pregnant, and then she ran off on me with him. Gave _my son_ his last name, and then took me to court to pay for the boy, while never letting me see him at all." Malicious wrath burned in Jeff's eyes. "And then they bullied me into giving Doug up when he was two. That _prick_ that she married actually came to my home, jacked me up against the wall, and threatened me if I did not turn over all my rights to Doug and allow him to adopt him. They didn't leave me with any choice. But I know Bill never really wanted the child. He treated him terribly. I'm certain he got tired of providing for Doug and decided to do away with him somehow and keep Kathy for himself without the inconvenience of a child."

"Do you have any proof at all that Bill Losey had a grievance with Douglas? Had he ever done him any harm before, made any comments, anything?" Deputy Sherman asked.

Jeff Horton rolled his eyes. "He treats Doug like shit, he always has. Back when I actually had visitation with him, he used to come over with marks on him all the time, scratches, bruises, you name it. He was always excessively hard on Doug, never let him be a kid. Always yelling and hollering at him, yanking him around. I've seen Bill get nasty with Doug more times than I could count. And I know Bill Losey, I dealt with him for years when I was seeing Doug. I know what kind of a man he is. He drinks too much. I have no doubt at all that Bill Losey is at the center of this, no doubt in my mind at all."

6

"That is _ridiculous_!" Kathy Losey's mouth was drawn in an angry circle of shock at the suggestion her husband might have had something to do with the disappearance of her son. The 6 year old boy had been missing without a trace for a week now, and the prime suspect in the investigation was now Doug's adoptive Father and his Mother's husband, Bill Losey.

"Mrs. Losey, we understand this is hard for you-." Deputy Flannery began, but Kathy cut her off quickly.

"No, _you_ understand _this_; Bill _has_ never and Bill _would_ never put his hands on Doug. He has never even spanked him or given him a tap on the wrist. Neither of us ever hit Doug to discipline him, we use time out, and we take away toys and privileges. I don't understand where this idea of Bill as some abusive Monster came from." Tears of anger, frustration, and pure exhaustion welled up in Kathy Losey's eyes, threatening to spill over. "We are both loving and committed parents. For Christ's Sake, Bill was at work when Doug-" Kathy choked on her words and stifled a sob. The hot tears spilled down her face in streams and her throat clicked as she struggled on the words, trying to the wrench them out, before finally giving up on her wording. "-when we were at the mall." She finished in a soft whisper.

Deputy Kristen Flannery shuffled through her papers. She had dealt with enough cases of child abuse in her seven years on the force to be unmoved by the Mother's insistences. A case came to mind of a three year old girl, reported missing by her distraught Mother. Kristen had been moved then, very moved, and had reached out to the woman. The child's body was found less than a week later, buried in the basement of the family home. She had been dead a month before her disappearance was reported, and it was eventually uncovered that while the girl had suffered severe long-term abuse from her Mother, Father, and a series of her Mother's lovers, her Mother herself had ultimately been the murderer as well as the main executor of the cover-up. She had said the same things as Kathleen Losey was now. Flannery no longer believed much in 'loving and committed parents'.

"According to Douglas' biological Father Jeffrey Hort-" the Deputy began, but again was interrupted by Kathy's enraged howl.

"_Jeff_?" Kathy snarled in breathless fury. "What in the blue _fuck_ does he have to do with _anything_?" Her eyes were hurt and furious. "He hasn't even seen Doug in almost 4 years, and he gave up his legal rights longer ago than that! Unless you're investigating _him_ as a suspect he has no business being involved whatsoever."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss who is being investigated and who is not, apart from advising you that Mr. Losey may want to contact an attorney." Deputy Flannery answered. "However, perhaps you can shed some light on claims made by Mr. Horton involving your son and your husband? According to Mr. Horton, Doug often arrived at his home for visitation with bruises and other marks that he alleges were caused by Mr. Losey. He also stated that he witnessed Mr. Losey being what he termed physically and emotionally abusive towards Douglas. He also alleges that Mr. Losey physically and verbally threatened him into giving up his rights to Douglas." Deputy Flannery paused to glance through her paperwork again, Mrs. Losey currently being stunned into silence. "Mr. Horton also alleges that your husband is an alcoholic who is known to become violent."

Kathy was silent for a few moments, trying to process the deadly traps that had sprung up around her. Some part of her had expected that she was not through with Jeff Horton, not even after he gave up all of his rights to Douglas and Bill legally adopted him. But she had never, _never_, expected him to take advantage of something like _this_. She had never thought even Jeffrey could be as utterly evil as that. She finally raised her eyes up and met Deputy Flannery with a steady cold stare.

"I don't have to shed light on anything for you. Your mind is already made up. You think Bill did something to him, and that's why no one has found Doug, because no one is bothering to look anymore. Well let me tell you something. Jeff is the one you need to be looking at. I left him after I realized I was pregnant because _he's_ the one who is abusive and I probably would have miscarried if I had stayed. _He_ was the one who put marks on Douggie when he was a baby, and that was why Bill finally went and threatened him because he had enough of our son coming home from that bastard's house all marked up. I don't give a flying fuck what you think of me or my husband, but I do care that no one is looking for Doug!"

Deputy Flannery returned the steady cold stare. "We've found several witnesses who corroborated Mr. Horton's statements." She told Kathy evenly. "Do you have anyone who is able to back up your version of events?" And Kathy Losey felt a vice closing on her life.

7

Bill Losey never went on trial for the murder of his son, nor was he put on trial for his disappearance. It was only dumb luck that prevented it. The week before the Derry Police Department was set to indict him, Douglas Shane Losey's red jacket was discovered by the Kenduskeag, in the Barrens.

Sheriff Moravian had Kathy Losey identify it, than explained to her the new version of events they had uncovered. Doug had merely wandered away from her at the mall. He was a little boy, and it was something little boys were apt to do at times. She herself had said Douglas had been begging to go play outside at the park. He had simply gotten tired of waiting and decided to take himself out. From the mall he had wandered down to the Barrens, or even somewhere upstream of them, but somewhere near the Kenduskeag, and must have fallen in. The water would have been thinly frozen at the time Douglas had disappeared, he could have been trying to skate even and fallen through the ice. His body would have been quickly washed down the Kenduskeag, into the Penobscot, and from there out to sea. It all made sense, according to the Sheriff. Why Douglas never cried (previously assumed to be because he knew the person who had taken him, presumed to be Bill Losey), how he got far enough away so quickly that he didn't answer when Kathy called (in this case because he didn't want to be found, not because he didn't hear). It answered all of the police's questions. It was a tragedy, all right, but a normal tragedy, a little boy's mischievousness gone wrong and nothing more.

Bill and Kathy Losey, and Jeffrey Horton, were devastated by the outcome of the investigation. Jeff continued to go on public record stating that he still believed Bill Losey was behind Douglas' disappearance (though he now openly referred to it as murder). Bill and Kathy refused to believe that Douglas had wandered off. They both insisted it was entirely against the child's personality to do something like that, but the police shrugged this off with an attitude more or less of 'Shit happens. The best kids act out sometimes.' Not to mention there was no real explanation for how Doug could have gotten from the Derry Mall all the way to the Kenduskeag, and with no one seeing the little boy either.

Bill and Kathy left Derry. Too many people believed that, even if Doug had ended up in the Kenduskeag, it was because Bill had put him there. The looks and whispers became too much, and though Bill and Kathy left together, they didn't stay together for long. They drifted their separate ways, and somehow much of the memory of Doug drifted away as well, along with most of their conscious memories of Derry itself. Things have a way of being like that when it comes to Derry.

8

In Derry itself, the fact that Douglas Shane Losey ever existed faded from memory quickly. There was no memorial set up for him, not in the Barrens and not at Derry Mall, despite the story of his disappearance being heavily covered by the local media, and despite the demonization of his adoptive Father by most everyone. There was no mention of him in the Derry School Year Book, where he had been a Kindergartner when he disappeared. His picture was not even in the book. The picture and name were quietly removed without question before it went to final print.

Though he had been relatively popular at school, there were no grief counselors brought in. No one talked to the children about anything. His existence, along with his disappearance, was simply swept under the rug. That was how things went in Derry.

And, to be fair, the tragedy of Douglas Losey's death disappeared in the horror that would follow in its wake over the next several months, a horror that very few, if any, ever connected with the Losey Boy's disappearance.

Nothing was ever found of Douglas Shane Losey, save for the red jacket in The Barrens.


End file.
